


Secrets Secrets Are No Fun (Unless You Share With Everyone)

by SnappleApple11



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexual Steve Rogers, Breakfast, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, F/M, Humor, M/M, Matchmaker Natasha Romanov, Minor Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-16 01:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13625694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnappleApple11/pseuds/SnappleApple11
Summary: It was Sam's idea, as most sensible and good ideas were."He's not gonna put it all out there like some angsty teenager with a LiveJournal," Sam had said. "Besides, not everything in the guy's head can be a matter of international security."





	Secrets Secrets Are No Fun (Unless You Share With Everyone)

**Author's Note:**

> Add this to the list of things that have been sitting on my hard drive forever.

“All right Rogers, you know what you did. Time to own up to it.” Steve’s personal pep-talk didn’t make standing in front of Bucky’s door that morning any easier. In fact, it was mostly Sam's words still ringing in his head that kept him from bolting. His fist hovered over the barrier before the sound of his rapping knuckles echoed through the Tower halls. 

 

There was no sign of anyone being in, even though FRIDAY had assured Steve otherwise. Although Steve wouldn’t put it past Bucky to have found a way around FRIDAY’s security if it meant fewer eyes constantly on him. He certainly wouldn’t blame him, either. 

 

He was ready to knock again when the door opened. 

 

“Steve?” Bucky wasn’t as expressive as he used to be, but Steve had known him long enough to read the confusion and discomfort in his mostly blank stare. Confusion he could handle, but the way Bucky was curled around the door frame, halfway hiding and not at all like his boisterous childhood friend, was a truth that punched Steve in the gut. He had to gulp on air before he could begin talking. 

 

“Bucky, I wanted to say sorry, and not just about the last mission,” Steve started, taking guilty stock of the healing bruises and cuts still littering his friend’s bare torso. “I’ve been a hypocrite about pushing you to share things you’re not ready to share. So I’m sorry.”

 

“Thanks,” Bucky mumbled, unsure. “You’re really gonna stop pushing?” If Steve didn’t know better he’d think Bucky almost sounded disappointed.

 

“Whatever space you need from me, it’s yours. Your secrets are yours. I still wish you’d talk to me about whatever’s going on though.”

 

“I told you, it’s not what you think,” Bucky insisted.

 

“Right, yeah…”

 

The door and Bucky’s body remained a half-open barrier between them but the silence was thick and constraining. It held them both prisoner to their feet, which might as well have been stuck in a swamp with how the limbs refused to move. 

 

Steve fought off the silence, the metaphorical muck. He didn’t want the conversation to end like this. “Can I come in? We should probably talk some more about how the last mission-”

 

Bucky tensed immediately. His hold on the door was firm but still managed to look effortless. He shifted his body from curling around the door to fully blocking Steve’s entrance into the room, a fluid urgency in his movements. Steve lifted his hands in apology, taking a step back. “Right, space. I just said that and… Sorry. Again.”

 

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Bucky said, abrupt and oddly chatty. “We can talk more later, in the gym, or somewhere. See you in the kitchen for breakfast, ok? And make sure Wilson doesn’t hide the syrup again. I know it was him.” The door started closing and Steve shoved a hand out on instinct. A flash of annoyance passed through Bucky’s gaze that was so lacking in subtlety it was more than enough to make Steve suspicious about whatever his friend might be hiding. 

 

Steve leveled his friend with a curious look. “Buck, the last time I saw you this evasively chatty you were 17 and there was a dame in your room that your ma didn’t know about. What’s going on?”

 

Bucky’s stare was blank, but to Steve it might as well have been a full body blush. He debated trying to pull his best Captain-America-is-disappointed-in-you face, not that the ‘face’ had ever really worked on Bucky, but a cheery voice from inside the room interrupted his non-existent attempt at stern coercion. 

 

“Good morning Steve!” Natasha chimed. Both men snapped to attention. 

 

Even though Steve couldn’t see Natasha his traitorous imagination filled in the blanks of just why she was in Bucky’s room and why her voice should be so raspy. His face went hot and tomato-red as he managed to ask, “You two…?”

 

The smirk on Bucky’s face was a touch embarrassed but more self-satisfied, the very picture of the cat that got the cream. Steve tried not to think too hard on the metaphor, he really did. 

 

“Fondue, Steve. Former Soviet, brain-washed asset fondue,” Bucky said. Steve blinked owlishly at his friend. Bucky sighed into a genuine smile. “We’ll be down in a bit for breakfast. Seriously, there’d better be syrup this time.” 

 

The door shut and Steve was left alone in the tower hallway. He walked stiffly away when he heard the murmur of his friend’s voice on the other side of the door. He walked faster in second-hand embarrassment when he heard a reply of feminine laughter. 

 

When Steve shared what happened in the kitchen minutes later, Clint and Sam thought the whole thing was hilarious. 

 

“The guy’s been brainwashed for 70 years and he’s still got more game than you!” Sam laughed, the sound rich and soothing to Steve’s ears. Combined with the fact that Sam was pulling out ingredients to make eggs and bacon for both of them, Steve couldn’t find it in him to be annoyed. 

 

“Very funny Sam,” Steve said, more confused than anything at that point. 

 

“Seriously though, good for him,” Sam added. “Good for the both of them, actually. Moving forward’s not easy but if Barnes and Romanoff can do it then maybe there’s hope for the rest of us?”

 

Clint was still laughing around a protein bar, but it was subdued and knowing, if that was even possible. Steve narrowed his eyes at the archer in consideration. He felt like he was really getting the hang of spotting suspicious behavior this morning. 

 

“You knew,” Steve realized, betrayed and, frankly, flabbergasted. 

 

Clint denied nothing, just grinned a little wider, a strange enough sight with his cheeks squirrel-like and filled with processed oats. 

 

“For how long?” Sam asked. 

 

Clint stood up abruptly and made a bee line for the coffee maker with the empty mug everyone insisted he use in lieu of drinking straight from the pot. He pulled a face as he eyed the empty pot. “Aw coffee no,” He muttered, huffing and swallowing the remains of the protein bar while he rummaged for more coffee grounds. “I don’t know how long they’ve been bumping uglies but they’ve been making eyes at each other for weeks.” 

 

“They’ve been shooting murder-eyes at each other,” Sam corrected. “But I guess that’s what counts as ‘making eyes’ for ex-KGB.” 

 

“Bucky wasn’t in the KGB,” Steve tried to insist. 

 

Sam waved him aside. “Seriously though, the angry staring contest was them ‘making eyes’? Steve, Barnes was a hit with the ladies before, right? He didn’t throw murder-eyes at them, so what did he do back then to make it happen?”

 

Steve shook his head, willing the memories forward. “He talked, a lot. Always said the right thing to charm anybody. He barely talks nowadays, though. And Nat flirts but after Bruce I didn’t think…”

 

Clint jumped in, eyebrows waggling in suggestion. “But have you seen them spar? That’s practically foreplay for them and they’ve been sparring in the gym for months. If they haven’t already I wouldn’t be surprised if they end up there one night soon and…”

 

Sam leaned back from the counter. “Ok, that’s a visual I really don’t need.” 

 

“It’s like murder ballet or something,” Clint added. Steve thought Clint was just trying to annoy Sam now. 

 

Sam shook his head. “We’re not gonna have to sanitize the place, are we?”

 

“What needs sanitizing?” Bucky and Nat were suddenly right behind them and the three men startled. Steve didn’t think he would ever get used to how terrifyingly silent Bucky was when he moved nowadays.

 

They had both clearly just gotten out of the shower, hair still damp and dressed in fresh clothes, even if Nat was still in the pants she had worn yesterday. 

 

And one of Bucky’s shirt. Rolled and knotted at the bottom so it didn’t drown her smaller frame. 

 

Sam and the others all made fun of Steve for what they called his ‘delicate 1940’s sensibilities’, but he just thought some things were best left in the privacy of a person’s bedroom, not put on parade at the breakfast table or on a mission. Call him old fashioned, but he liked a certain amount of professionalism, and for people’s sex lives, whatever they entailed, to be private. So for all that the world saw Natasha as a Femme Fatale and Bucky had his previous ladies-man reputation, Steve had no desire or need to imagine either of his friends in the bedroom. 

 

That didn’t mean he wanted to be the last to learn his friends were apparently together, though. 

 

“The gym,” Clint chimed in, hopping toward Nat with another grin as he eyed her shirt choice. He gave her a fist bump, to Natasha’s good-natured annoyance. “And maybe the kitchen too. Actually, mostly the kitchen. I know Stark doesn’t want to deal with the extra security of a human cleaning crew but he could at least make sure there’s enough towels and soap to wash the dishes. With Steve and Barnes’ insane appetites we barely even have food in this place.”

 

Before Steve had a chance to question just why the kitchen would need sanitizing too, Bucky stepped forward. “There’s at least stuff for breakfast, right?”

 

“He means pancakes,” Natasha added. Clint shrugged. 

 

Bucky moved around the kitchen with silent steps, opening cabinets and the fridge to pull out ingredients for pancake batter. Everything was pulled onto the countertop where Natasha was measuring flour, but Bucky was still scouring the cabinets. Natasha shot him a questioning look. He paused his search and turned to Sam, face deceptively blank but a distinctly heavy and ominous air settling over him.

 

“Aw, no murder vibes at breakfast, c’mon,” Clint complained. The coffeemaker dinged helpfully and Clint jumped at the peace offering. “Here! Coffee for everyone!”

 

Steve remembered Bucky’s earlier comment. “Sam, where’s the syrup?”

 

“Syrup’s for French toast, not flap jacks. Those get butter and berries,” Sam asserted with a grin, completely unaffected by Bucky’s darkening stare. Steve raised an eyebrow and Sam rolled his eyes. “Syrup’s on the bottom shelf, behind the pasta.”

 

Natasha crouched down and opened the cabinet door, grinning as she victoriously pulled out a bottle of maple syrup. 

 

Sam was still cooking their eggs on one stove burner while Bucky and Nat maneuvered to use the one next to him. Steve didn’t think it looked like ‘murder ballet’, but he got what Clint meant about how seamlessly they moved together. The way they passed under and around each other, handing bowls and ingredients off without even looking. It was a level of synchronicity that was eerily natural. Steve wondered how he missed seeing it before. 

 

Breakfast was soon made and served. Sam passed Steve a heaping plate of eggs, bacon, and toast, refilling both of their coffee mugs before sitting down to his own serving. Bucky’s stack of pancakes was at least twice as tall as Natasha’s and even through his carefully blank expression Steve could see a sliver of delight as he poured rivers of syrup over the stack. Natasha’s pleased expression at this was more open than Steve had ever seen on her and it lightened something in his chest. She pushed her plate expectantly toward Bucky and he obliged her by pouring an equally ridiculous flood of syrup over her pancakes. 

 

Sam shook his head, crestfallen, at the now empty syrup bottle, and Steve made a mental note to pick more up for him. 

 

Clint was finishing another cup of coffee and helping himself to bites off everyone’s plates. Natasha half-heartedly glared at him when he stole anything from her plate. Bucky just shrugged and moved bits of syrup-covered pancake onto a separate plate for Clint in a move so alike to Bucky handing food off to his sisters at the kitchen table decades earlier that Steve had to blink himself back to the present. 

 

Steve stabbed his fork into the eggs, occupying his mouth and his mind while everyone at the table finished breakfast. 

 

Her plate now empty, Natasha whispered something in Russian into Bucky’s ear that lit up his eyes. Her fingers lingered on Bucky’s neck briefly before she pulled away to stand. 

 

“Clint, you’re coming with me,” Natasha declared, quickly rinsing her dishes in the sink. “I need your help with something delicate and of Earth-shattering importance.”

 

“Gee Brain, what’re we gonna do tonight?” Clint joked, following suit and putting his own dishes in the sink to be forgotten about and never cleaned.

 

“The same thing we do every night Pinky. Try to take over the world,” Natasha replied with an air of drama that told Steve she was quoting something. A glance at Sam’s grinning face and he knew who to ask about it later. Nat and Clint were nearly through the kitchen door when she loudly added, “You’re going to help me edit Sam’s dating profile.”

 

Sam’s head shot up, eyes flickering briefly to Steve in panic that Steve knew he mirrored. “Wait, I don’t have a- Nat, what did you do? Romanoff! Barton!” Sam started for the doorway before twisting back to grab his plate, tossing it into the sink and racing after the pair. 

 

Steve had spent enough time with Natasha to know when she was deliberately choreographing something, like leaving him and Bucky alone in the kitchen so they could talk. But real dating profile or not he was pretty worried for Sam now. 

 

“Just ask,” Bucky said, shattering the silence. 

 

“Ask?”

 

Bucky looked like he wanted to say something, but shook his head and instead said, “You wanna ask about me and Nat, so just ask.”

 

Steve wanted to ask about a hell of a lot more than just the sudden development of Bucky apparently dating again, but his brain took that moment to short-circuit. “You’re seeing someone.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You’re seeing Natasha.”

 

“I think we established that when you walked in on us earlier. Just ask what you wanna ask, punk.”

 

The sudden return to his Brooklyn accent made Steve pause. “I’m happy for you. And Nat. I really am. I just don’t get when you two first would’ve… It’s hard enough getting you in a room together and now you’re suddenly dating? How long has this been going on anyway, we only got back from Wakanda six months ago.” Bucky shifted minutely, an uncomfortable look on his face. Steve was dumbfounded in realization and hurt. “It’s been longer, hasn’t it? Why didn’t either of you say anything? We’re your friends.” 

 

“Pot and kettle,” Bucky muttered.

 

“What?”

 

The metal fork twirled in Bucky’s hand as easily as one of his knives while he considered his words. “Last few days we – Nat and I – we’ve been talking about whether to tell people about us or not.”

 

“That you’re together?”

 

Bucky nodded. “Eventually agreed not to. It’s nobody’s business what we do or that we do it together. And after years of having nothing, to have her? An ‘us’? There’s no way in hell I’m letting the world get its shitty little hands on that. The world can fuck off.”

 

Steve nodded but felt like the wind had been knocked from him. It was another punch from reality, this stark contrast to Bucky Barnes Before, who would have shouted from the top of the Empire State Building that he was dating Natasha Romanoff. After decades of having his life, his memories, and even his name stripped from him, it made tragic sense that Bucky-Now would be so guarded and secretive over what little happiness he had carved out for himself. Steve was well-acquainted with hiding away parts of himself for fear of what the world would do. 

 

“What changed?”

 

“You’re not the world.” Bucky deflated, his shoulders sagging. “You and Barton and the others, you’re not the world, and not telling you meant we didn’t trust you to know. If we can’t trust you to know we’re together then we’re no different from who we were before. And I don’t wanna be that Soldier again.”

 

“So outing yourselves is a way of taking back your life? Your agency?”

 

He shrugged. “Maybe? Not posting it in the Times or anything, but we’re trying not to be so paranoid about it.”

 

The contrast was still there, reality’s punch still pulling the air from his chest, but it was lessened in light of the visible progress to Bucky’s recovery. He wasn’t the social butterfly of their youth, but he wasn’t the shut-in who wanted to go back into cryo either. “That’s good. Really good. I’m glad, Buck.”

 

Bucky stood up with his now empty plate, taking it and his silverware and mug over to the sink to clean them. “You know what this means though, right?”

 

“What’s that?”

 

Bucky turned to him with an impish smirk that was straight out of Brooklyn and Steve suddenly got very nervous. “I get to drag your ass on double dates again. It’ll be like old times, except now you actually get to go after the rest of your dating pool.”

 

“What?”

 

Bucky frowned. “Have you not been checking Wilson out?” At Steve’s subsequent blush, Bucky smirked again. He added off-handedly as he walked out of the kitchen, “With Sam, just ask. I think you’ll be surprised. But you should hurry.”

 

Steve finally found his voice. “Why’s that?”

 

Bucky’s reply came from around the corner. “I think Nat was serious about that dating website.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feed the author!! Read & Review!


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